


it's a date (i think?)

by IttyBittyBkr



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Valentines date, i literally can't stress how soft they are, look crowley is dumb okay, there is one Big misunderstanding but it gets resolved, they're soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22764757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IttyBittyBkr/pseuds/IttyBittyBkr
Summary: “Isthisadate?” Crowley blurted out, and Aziraphale had the pleasure (The only pleasurable thing about this particular moment in time) of watching a blush bloom across the tops of his cheeks.“Pardon?” he asked, doing his best to feign innocence and not doing a very good job of it.Crowley took a breath, the blush only getting darker. It looked charming on him, in a way that made Aziraphale want to kiss him.“Is this a date?” he repeated slower, and Aziraphale felt the bottom of his stomach drop.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 207





	it's a date (i think?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ejotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ejotter/gifts).



> this is 10k of pure fluff and softness written for sunshinefemme (if u haven't read their stuff bls do it's So Good)! i was planning on it being 4k at max but i got carried away so enjoy some soft fun valentines shenanigans

They had always shared meals together. From that first day after the humans left Eden (He had been curious about the apple and Aziraphale had come down to ‘tell him off’ supposedly, but he ended up sitting beside him sampling the pears - and _Satan_ , he hasn’t been able to forget the look of pure joy on his face, the juice from the pear making his lips glisten and just beginning to drip down his chin. Crowley hadn’t been able to make him try the apple instead, and to this day he’s still never gotten an apple in his hand) they had more or less called a truce to eat. The less being Aziraphale and the more being Crowley. For him, it was never a hardship to convince his angel to duck into some little cafe and swipe bits off his plate every once in a while. Despite Aziraphale’s vocal protests, he never actually put up much of a fight when it came down to it; Crowley knew why, of course he did. Hell may have more bravado but they had nothing on Heaven when it came to punishment.  
  
It had gotten easier as time went on, every little visit wearing away at the paranoia and anxiety until they were laughing together over a fire in 827 BC, absolutely shitfaced on some of the worst wine he’s had the displeasure of tasting, their plates picked clean (By Aziraphale. Even back then Crowley only managed about half his plate. The fun was in watching his opposite indulge and find pleasure in something as simple as food), and sitting shoulder to thigh. 

That night was the first he put a word to the feeling that had been growing inside him since Eden, watching the fire highlight every curve on his face, every laugh line and worry line, adding another dimension to the blush dusting his cheeks. 

Love.  
  
Now, if Crowley hadn’t been as drunk as he had been, the realization would’ve knocked him on his arse - possibly even discorporated him from the shock. From what he remembers of the moment he simply stared at Aziraphale before bursting out into another fit of laughter, which the angel soon joined in. It was a good memory of a good night. Good enough that it ranked 9th in his _Top Fifty Moments in Time,_ despite giving him one of the worst hangovers in his very long existence (A hangover which also put the memory at 3rd in his _Reasons to Stop Drinking_ list). 

After that night Aziraphale protested less and less until they just so happened to run into each other in Rome and _he_ asked _Crowley_ out to eat. Bless it, his angel had been so cheeky with his Temptation that the smile came to him unbidden and he was never certain that he managed to squash it properly. The wine had been good, the garum starter was passable, and the oysters - well. Let’s just say swallowing what was basically salty blobs of snot hadn’t been his favorite thing (Aziraphale’s _disapproving-but-amused-and-trying-not-let-it-show_ face that his hacking and coughing caused continued to be one of his favourite things to this day).  
  
They lost a bit of traction after the whole Holy water incident, an incident that he was more than happy to skip right over and keep ignoring, thank you very much. They didn’t really get back into the swing of it until taking their roles as Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis, first meeting during lunch to swap information and then slowly, just like everything seemed to happen between them, the lunches got a little longer. The conversations started to drift from strictly business to casual chit-chat about their day and even started to slide into gossip, though Aziraphale always rolled his eyes when he used that word. What else was he supposed to call it when they talked about the butler and the chef getting together in the closet on the fourth floor?  
  
Everything got put on pause when Armageddon rolled around, and once everything was said and done they were free to do what they wanted - on paper. It hadn’t been quite that easy to get used to, but after a few months, they had finally settled into a comfortable schedule. Most days Crowley would wake up, down a pot and a half of coffee (Not out of necessity or enjoyment of the taste, but for the ritual of it all), give his plants a seeing to, go out and cause some generalized mayhem (Most recently in the form of mobile phones not connecting to the Bluetooth in your car - he was particularly proud of that one), and end up back at the shop with a gift in hand - such as today. The gift in question was a bottle of 1947 Bordeaux, which was only half empty after three glasses each - who’s miracle it was, he couldn’t say.  
  
Crowley was splayed comfortably on the couch; one leg thrown over the back, one bent and tucked underneath him, and the rest of his body in the general direction of diagonal, with his head hanging off the edge of his seat. His glasses were nowhere in sight. In fact, he hadn’t worn them in the shop since their trials. Why should he? They were on their side now, Aziraphale wasn’t going to just up and leave when a bit of his snakey bits come through - he’s known about that since _literally_ the day they met, it was fine. As long as he kept telling himself that, the fear of abandonment - _Thanks, mum!_ \- stayed at a reasonable level.  
  
“Mmmmm - yeah. S’good wine,” he sighed, bringing the glass up to his mouth and taking another sip. This only worked, of course, because he expected it to. He wasn’t about to sit upright just to take a drink, that was too much work.  
  
He peeled his eyes open and watched the angel across from him who, despite the wine’s best efforts, didn’t look nearly as relaxed as he should. In fact, Aziraphale managed to look more stressed than he had when he first came to the shop which was just plain _wrong_ . Aside from the fact that his angel shouldn’t feel stressed (What did they have to worry about? They _won_ , they were free and safe for now. If anything did happen, well - that was a problem for future them), worry lines distorted his face in a way that made his heart break - just a little bit, nothing that he wouldn’t survive. But he’d be damned twice if he didn’t try to erase them. 

It took a bit of wiggling, but he managed to twist himself so he was on his stomach (One foot managed to stay victoriously on the top of the couch while the other managed to tuck in between the cushions), his head propped up with one hand and his wine glass in the other. “Angel,” he asked in his best impersonation of a sober man-shaped being. “Everything alright? You, you’ve got -,” He waved and motioned to his own face with his wine glass. “- y’know.” 

He did _not_ know, given the confused look he got in return.  
  
“Why on Earth wouldn’t things be alright?” Aziraphale said, avoiding his question in an all-too-familiar way.  
  
“Your face,” he said as if that would explain everything. Why would he need to know anything else? This was a face he’s been seeing for six thousand years, he bloody well better know when something was wrong with it.  
  
“My face,” the angel repeated slowly and it struck him that Aziraphale didn’t sound nearly as drunk as he should be. 

Crowley nodded, wrangling his limbs together and coming into a position halfway between sitting and a spineless slouch. “Mmmmhm. It’s all line-y in a bad way, not in th’good way like it usually is.” Aziraphale just gave him a Look (Capital L Look, yes. Crowley had gotten many of them over the years, and this one was mainly amusement with only a smidgen of that patented _Really now?_ thrown in) and Crowley just grinned, raising his glass to his mouth and draining half of it in one go. 

“I’m not sure that was the compliment you intended it to be, dear,” he said fondly, waving his hand and refilling the glass. Well - who was he to complain about more wine? Crowley raised his glass a little and took another, smaller sip.  
  
Had he not drunk as much as he had, or if the wine was of lesser quality, three things might have occurred to him. The first being that this was the fourth time his glass had been miracled full; the second being that all signs pointed to Aziraphale trying to get him drunk for some unknown reason, and the third thing being that the same angel has been slowly sobering himself up over the course of the past hour or so (And had he realized it, all he would be able to say would be _Oh, you bastard_ in an overly fond voice). 

But - the wine was _excellent_ and he hadn’t seen a reason not to have as much of it as he pleased. 

“C’mon, you can tell me,” Crowley pouted. Pulled out all the stops too - slightly widened eyes, eyebrows raised, and bottom lip out just a hair. 

Was he basing this look after all the times Aziraphale had looked at him and not quite asked him to do something? Absolutely. It seemed to work since blue eyes met his own for the first time in what felt like hours and he saw a bit of the tension seep from his shoulders (He was going to ignore the very real possibility that the slumping was the result of defeat rather than relaxation because defeat meant he had been trying to keep something from him and Crowley was far too drunk to open that can of worms and keep his composure. Crying in front of the love of your life because he was keeping something probably small and inconsequential from you was decidedly Not Cool).  
  
Aziraphale looked back down at his lap, playing with the ring on his pinky finger. That thing should be nothing but dust by now with the amount of wear his angel’s put it through, all that twisting and fiddling with it. At the very least it the band should be thinner, but it was just as lustrous and thick as the first day Crowley saw it on him. Maybe it was a Heavenly object after all, though it’s never irritated him the few times he’s accidentally brushed against it. Could just be a miracle every few years or so to keep it in tip-top shape - bless, Aziraphale probably took it to an actual jeweler. He would. Get it polished and repaired the human way, appreciating the craftsmanship and effort that went into it, making small talk. Might even browse whatever other pieces they had for sale even though he wouldn’t buy one, but wouldn’t that be a sight? His angel with earrings or a few more rings. Maybe even a necklace or a bracelet. He’d probably like something that was both simple and ornate, most likely gold, and -

“Would you accompany me to dinner Friday?” Aziraphale blurted, pulling Crowley from his thoughts.

He blinked a few times, his brows furrowing together. That was it? He had been worried about asking him to get dinner? Two days ago Crowley had shown up unannounced and practically dragged him out to this little hole-in-the-wall noodle shop he had found. The night before that he brought over some lasagna he had made (The human way even. A demon needed hobbies, especially when said demon wasn’t getting any missions from Hell for the first time in six thousand years, and cooking was as good as anything. Plus it had the added benefit of allowing him to be the direct cause of the smile that lit up Aziraphale’s face. Usually. Sometimes things didn’t always work out the way he expected. Chicken Scallopini was never to be attempted again) and they split a bottle of wine over it. Since Armageddon was a no-go, they had been eating together no less than four times a week, so why the Heaven would he be _worried_ about some Friday night?  
  
It occurred to him that he hadn’t said anything in a few minutes and Aziraphale had only managed to grow more anxious during that time. _Fuck_. 

“Course, yeah,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. Despite his accidental hesitance, Aziraphale almost immediately perked up at that, beaming at him in a way that made Crowley question whether or not the angel had accidentally manifested his halo for a moment.  
  
“You will? Truly?” Crowley narrowed his eyes a little; making sure he wanted to go to dinner? There had to be more to it than that, but now certainly wasn’t the time to poke and prod until he got the answer he wanted. Now was a time for drinking, so he just grinned back (Nowhere near as brilliantly as Aziraphale, but he did his best) and nodded. “Why on Earth wouldn’t I want to?” he asked, pitching his voice in a slight mimick of Aziraphale’s voice.  
  
Apparently that was the wrong thing to do since the shoulders went down again the smile dimmed from 10,000 watts to about 12. Fuck fuck fuck fucking _shit_ that wasn’t what he wanted to happen, he was just trying to tease him. Okay, he could fix this. He could. All he had to do was show him that he wasn’t being an arse and rather just gently teasing in a friendly bantering sort of way.  
  
With a surprising amount of dexterity, he managed to put his glass down and stand up in one motion, sauntering over to the angel’s chair (The saunter wasn’t on purpose this time, more like a side effect of being a snake in a human-shaped body who was piss drunk). The chair graciously made itself large enough to fit both of them as he plopped down next to Aziraphale, making himself comfortable.  
  
“Crowley, is this entirely necessary?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley could hear the annoyance in his voice. He elected to ignore it.  
  
“Ye- _p_ ,” he said, popping the ‘P’ and flashing him a toothy grin. 

No reaction. Time to get a move on before he was ushered out the door and kept at an arms distance for a few weeks. Crowley held up his hand, holding his pinky out towards a still very unamused angel. “Now yours,” he prompted. 

_That_ caused an eye roll. “We aren’t children, this is -”  
  
“Angel. Please. For me?”  
  
Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut faster than he’s ever seen it before and, after a long moment (Or maybe it just felt long because of all the alcohol) he held up his hand in a mirror of Crowleys. Perfect. He hooked their pinkies together and met Aziraphale’s eyes, managing not to forget what he was doing (That’s happened before, on multiple occasions. It wasn’t his fault, not really. If Aziraphale’s eyes weren’t an indescribable blue, then he wouldn’t have to devote so much time to finding a way to describe them).

“I, Anthony J. Crowley promise that not only do I want to have dinner with you but that I’m excited to have dinner with you. Always am. S’fun, being with you. Rather be with you than with any’ov them,” he motioned downward with his free hand and made a face. “Or any of them.” He pointed up this time. “An’ you make me happy,” he tacked on, only belatedly realizing what he said.

Alright, that was enough with the talking. He didn’t need to upset Aziraphale again by getting overly friendly. He cleared his throat and waited for a response, cocking a brow when he was met with only silence. “You got’a say something,” he said and for a moment it looked like Aziraphale was gearing up to tell him how ridiculous this all was again.  
  
Perhaps this was playing dirty, but tightening his pinky and giving his best Aziraphale ‘ _Angel Eyes_ ’ Fell seemed to work. He was going to have to keep that trick in his back pocket, it was coming in handy.  
  
“I … I promise to take you at your word from now on,” He eventually said, and Crowley may or may not have gotten inordinately pleased at that.  
  
Aziraphale made to pull back and Crowley shook his head, a noise escaping the back of his throat that he would deny the existence of at all costs. “Nonononono we’re not, ’s not done yet,” he said, scooting a bit closer. Technically speaking this part wasn’t necessary according to the Pinky Promise Laws, but he always liked it and let’s be real, he would take any excuse to keep touching Aziraphale. He was so blessedly warm and soft and good and perfect and he didn’t want it to end any time soon.  
  
“Need t’ kiss it,” he said. Whether Aziraphale hated the idea or loved it he couldn’t tell; the angel just froze, staring at him with wide eyes and his lips parted. Fuck, he bet his lips were the softest things in existence. It would be easy just to lean over their hands and - 

_Focus!_

Crowley cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to his own hand, deciding this was safer than speaking anymore. He glanced up at Aziraphale as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to his own hand, his heart hammering in his chest. There was no reason for this to be so - _intimate_. Aziraphale had been right, this was a child’s tradition, and yet - it was the closest he would ever get to kissing him. 

He took a moment to store this away for when the ache in his chest became unbearable again; the warmth radiating from Aziraphale’s thigh against his, the closeness between them, the possibility of _something_ in the air (Familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it), the way their hands were pressed together and how easily he could lace their fingers together, or how he just needed to rotate his hand and he could be kissing Aizraphale’s hand instead.  
  
Once it was tucked away nice and neat with his other hoarded memories of the angel he made to pull back, only to freeze when Aziraphale leaned in and copied him. While he was still kissing his own hand. His cheeks reddened instantly and he tried to get himself to look away, but he was so _close_ that he could practically feel his breath on his hand and it had been a millennium since he had the opportunity to see him up close and personal. What harm could come from it?  
  
Aziraphale chose that moment to look up as well and Crowley felt the blood rush to his cheeks, tinting them what he was sure was a bright red. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him so badly that it hurt, wanted to drop his hand and pull him close enough so he could feel the way Crowley’s heart was beating a melody of love against his chest and _kiss him_ , wanted to tell him how long he’s wanted this between breaths, wanted to run his hands through his hair down his body up his back, he wanted to be allowed to want him and he wanted to be wanted in return.  
  
But this - this would be enough. It had to be. 

He closed his eyes to keep the water gathering in the corners hidden from Aziraphale but he took the time to add this to his memory chest as well. He could fudge the details enough to let himself pretend they had kissed - again, only when the ache in his chest became too much.  
  
Crowley was the first to pull back, his cheeks still faintly pink but the moisture in his eyes banished with a minor miracle. “See?” he croaked, his voice hoarse with unspoken emotions. “Now we’re good. Cause - promises.” With that the miracled them their wine glasses back, both full, and knocked them together.  
  
Aziraphale looked a bit pink as well, but that was because of the wine. And the heat - it was warm in here, after all. Couldn’t be because of anything else. It - Nah, it couldn’t be.  
  
“Promises,” the angel agreed, once again blinding him with a smile. It was a different smile this time, not quite as bold as the last, but every bit as captivating. It was shy and soft and felt personal and Crowley greedily took it, basking in the warmth and trying not to be too obvious about it.  
  
“Drink up, my dear,” Aziraphale instructed and for once Crowley didn’t have anything to say, just nodded and drank. “The night is young yet, and it would be a shame to leave the bottle half full,” he said, raising his glass a little before taking a delicate sip.  
  
Well. At least he was out of his nervous funk, and now they had a lovely dinner to look forward to on Friday, even if it wasn’t a date like he wanted. Time spent with Aziraphale was a gift and he wasn’t about to take it for granted, not after six thousand years of not being allowed to be seen together in public.  
  
With that, they drank.

~  
  


  
The rest of the week went by as it usually did and then Friday was on him before he knew it. Between the night Aziraphale asked him to dinner and now they had shared another four meals together and _still_ this felt … different. Crowley couldn't quite put his finger on why it felt different than going out to the Indian place around the corner, but it did (Different enough that he felt the need to try on no less than five different outfits in seven different angles in his mirror before giving up with a snarl and going with his usual attire). 

Nonetheless, he pulled up to the shop as he always did, coming in entirely too fast and screeching to a halt, leaving rubber marks that no council worker would be able to scrub off. Of course, they always managed to disappear with a disapproving look from Aziraphale, despite his best efforts. 

In a desperate attempt to convince himself that there really wasn't anything different about today, he honked his horn a few times and waited. There wasn't anything different about this, there _wasn't_. It was just a dinner out - Aziraphale probably saw a restaurant they hadn't tried or got a very specific craving and made reservations, that's all. 

Thankfully the door to the shop opened and Crowley was saved from his circling thoughts and given a bit of reassurance that he was right. If it was a special dinner, Aziraphale would've dressed up and from what Crowley could see he was wearing the same well-worn clothes that he still somehow managed to make look attractive. Well - there was one difference. Aziraphale was holding a plant in his hand. 

Now, this was odd only because Aziraphale was absolute shit with plants. Every time he attempted to grow something it would be dead within a week (Crowley had done most of the gardening at the Dowlings under the guise of needing Aziraphale to keep his job for their plan to work. It just so happened that it was a perfect excuse to be around him more often as well) and Aziraphale would end up nearly in tears about it when they got drunk. After the fourth time it happened they struck up another Agreement. The angel wouldn't buy any more plants, and in exchange Crowley would bring him a few that thrived in low light environments and helped to cleanse the air (They may not need to breathe but inhaling stale, dusty air was still unpleasant). Crowley also agreed to come over and take care of them (Again, the perfect excuse to be around him); it was easy enough and it made Aziraphale happy to have them in the shop - and let's be frank, he would do just about anything to make his angel happy. 

Crowley slid out of the car and crossed his arms on the roof, cocking an eyebrow. “Thought we had an understanding about that,” he joked, and it earned him a warm smile. 

As Aziraphale came closer he realized that the smile, just like the night they had been shitfaced, was laced with a bit of anxiety. His first instinct was to ask him _What's wrong? Are you okay? What happened? Can I help? Can I make you smile? I love it when you smile and I’ve gotten pretty fucking good at making you do it, if I do say so myself, can I?_

He has a feeling that might get their night off to a bad start, so he bit his tongue. 

“I’m not keeping her, no need to jump to her defense,” Aziraphale shot back, and Crowley just grumbled a little. As fun as threatening his plants was, he never actually enjoyed hurting them (In fact, he never hurt them at all. Any ‘shredded’ plants were taken to a plot of land he had in South Downs where they were free to grow, and where he visited them regularly. Just to make sure they didn't get any ideas about dying on him). 

“What, gonna try to pawn her off on some random human?” he asked, coming around the Bentley to meet him halfway. 

Up close he realized he might've been mistaken before - The clothes were mostly the same, but the jacket and vest had been pressed, the shirt looked _new_ , and the bow tie was more vibrant than he seemed to remember. Not that any of that actually proved anything. It’s entirely possible that Aziraphale just wanted to freshen things up, as one was prone to do. Definitely, absolutely didn't mean anything. 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he scoffed, and Crowley fell a little more in love. “I assumed - well, that is to say, I thought you might like it,” he said in a rush, glancing at him quickly. 

For a moment, Crowley couldn't move, let alone say anything. 

“Me?” he squawked, blinking rapidly behind his glass as Azirpahale nodded. 

“Yes. It's called -”

“Sansevieria Trifasciata,” he interrupted before he could stop himself. 

“- or a snake plant, yes,” he continued and now Crowley knew his corporation must be malfunctioning because he was hallucinating a blush on the angel’s cheeks. He watched without really processing what was happening as Aziraphale held out the pot a little. “I’m sure you already have one, but I saw this and I thought - oh, it doesn't matter what I thought,” Aziraphale said, clearing his throat. 

Crowley needed to say something. There were a million things he wanted to say and about a thousand things he could say without fucking things up, but his corporation refused to cooperate, simply saying frozen in the same position; mouth open and eyes wide behind his glasses. 

Aziraphale’s smile wavered and he pulled the plant back a little. “Of course I completely understand if you don't want it. As I said, I’m sure you already have one -” 

“No!” Finally Crowley snapped into motion, snatching the pot from Aziraphale's hands and holding it close to his chest. “No, I want it. Don't have one, actually,” he said, dropping his gaze to the little plant. Aziraphale bought it for him. He saw it and thought of Crowley because it was a snake plant and bought it because he knew he liked plants and bless it he was about to start crying. “Let me just, uh.” He snapped his fingers and sent her back to his flat, having her go on the nightstand next to his bed. The first and only plant to grace his bedroom. 

“Don't want to leave her in the car while we eat,” he explained, unable to keep the little smile off his lips. “Thank you, angel. I love -” 

_You_ , he didn't say, 

“- it.”

Aziraphale beamed at him again, stepping close and reaching a hand out. “I’m so glad, my dear,” he said, taking his elbow and steering him down the street, away from the car. 

“Angel, what about - ?” he cut himself off, twisting to look over his shoulder at the Bentley and motioning in that direction. Words were hard, especially when Aziraphale was touching him. Casually. In public. 

“It's a lovely night, I don't see why we can't walk,” he said. His voice was so soft and almost hopeful that Crowley wouldn’t have argued even if he wanted to - which he didn't. This was so much fucking better than driving. 

The walk through the city was easy and routine, and Crowley relaxed with each step. The arm holding was nice. It reminded him of Greece, way back when it was acceptable for friends to walk together like this, to greet each other with a kiss. They only met a few times during that time period, but Crowley remembered each touch of the angel's lips against his cheek and his lips against his cheek in turn. He would do just about anything for that to come back into fashion. 

Much quicker than should technically be possible they were stepping into Saint James Park. “Going the scenic route?” he asked, grinning a little as he was led down a familiar path. The angel just smiled at him, patting his arm reassuringly. 

“I thought it might be nice, though we don't have time for you to torment the ducks, I’m afraid,” he said, giving him a pointed look as they passed the pond. 

“It's not like I didn't _un_ -sink him,” Crowley grumbled, though his smile only grew. It was nice to know that Aziraphale enjoyed those moments as much as he had, enough to take the winding paths through the park to revisit them.

And that’s exactly what they did.

With every meeting place and landmark they passed, Aziraphale would slow their pace and reminisce about whatever happened while they were there, with Crowley chiming in every now and again. He would be more than happy to follow Aziraphale around all night listening to him laugh and talk about their time together (Something he never thought would happen) but soon enough they ended up at the doors of the Ritz.  
  
Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale and gave him his own Look, to which the angel smiled fondly. “It’s been a while, and I hear they changed their tasting menu,” was all the angel said, leading him inside. 

It was a nice change, to be the one to follow for once. Not that he was complaining - he knew that he had to be the one to take the reins of their friendship in order for it to, well, become a friendship. It was never something he would complain about, but he had expected it to stay like that after they established their own side.  
  
He would’ve been fine with that too, but having his angel speak to the maître d'hôtel for them while still holding his arm settled a bit of leftover worry lingering in his chest. The fear of Aziraphale deciding he was better off without Crowley was a longstanding one and he had accepted the fact that it was going to take a while to get rid of completely. Heaven, he may _never get_ rid of it completely but it was certainly becoming easier to tell himself that he was here for good. And this certainly helped.  
  
Something was different about the restaurant, he noticed as they were led back to their table. The lights seemed dimmer than they usually were, even for a high-end restaurant, and there was an unusual amount of candles and roses everywhere. He wasn’t given much time to focus on that as they approached their usual table and promptly continued past it.  
  
Now that was definitely different. Regardless of when or how they got a reservation here, they always sat at the table near the piano in the center of the room. For him, it was a little bit of a _fuck you_ to Heaven and Hell. No need to fake meetings on buses or muck about in bandstands, no. They were _free_. They could eat in the center of the bloody Ritz, laughing and sharing wine and there wasn’t a thing they could do about it. Crowley never explicitly talked about it with Aziraphale, but he was fairly certain he felt the same way. 

Aziraphale must’ve had something else in mind because he simply squeezed his arm at the questioning look Crowley gave him. He would find out eventually he was sure, so there was no reason to obsess over it now.  
  
They were brought to a table tucked away in the back of the room, lit by three taper candles huddled together in the off to the side of the table. It should’ve looked a bit tacky with how they were halfway burnt already but between that, the warm light they were giving off, and the few roses tucked near the base, it came across as achingly romantic. 

As the waiter pulled out their chairs and seated them, he realized just how blessedly intimate this was. They must’ve moved the tables around or something because once the waiter left with their wine order (Aziraphale picked. Crowley was far too absorbed in his own head to answer any sort of questions from anyone other than Aziraphale right now) it felt like it was just the two of them. It had been a while since he had gotten smacked with the full force of just how much he loved Aziraphale, but this time it hit him like a punch to the gut.  
  
He loved his angel so much that it felt like his chest might explode with the force of it beating against his ribs. So much that it made him want to freeze time and snog him senseless right here and now - he might not even freeze time if it meant getting to him faster. He wanted to give him anything and everything he could ever want in this world, wanted to pamper him and spoil him and love him until time started to collapse around them.  
  
It was a bit much, yeah, and he knew he wouldn’t get the chance. But it was - it wasn’t alright, but he would rather have Aziraphale in his life as a friend than destroy that because, what? He was selfish? Wanted to make himself heard even if it made his friend uncomfortable? Nah, it wasn’t worth it.  
  
“What gives with the table change?” he asked, picking up his menu to give his hands something to do. Aziraphale always ordered their food when they went out since he ended up eating most of it, and even if Crowley did eat, Aziraphale had impeccable taste (The single exception being oysters). 

Aziraphale was sitting nearly ramrod straight in his chair, his hands beneath the table and judging by the look on his face, Crowley would bet money that he was playing with his ring. “Change is good, is it not?” He asked a bit cooly.  
  
“Change is _good_ ?” he repeated, doing his best not to laugh. “Are you kidding me, Angel? You hate change! You haven’t changed your clothes in fifty years! You still have a rotary phone for fuck’s sake - you hate change. You’ve said so yourself,” he said, finally glancing down at the menu. Even _that_ was styled oddly, the paper a dark red in contrast to the typical ivory, and were those hearts at the corners? What was even the _point_ of that? He flicked his eyes to the menu title and froze. 

_Oh._

Aziraphale was saying something across from him and while he was sure it was important, he couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. Valentine’s day. It was _Valentine’s day_ , how did he - he hadn’t even known it was February! (In his defense, dates became unimportant when you were immortal).

Oh, _shit_. 

If he hadn’t known it was Valentine’s day, then there was no way in Anywhere that Aziraphale knew what today was. No - nope, he couldn't have known. Aziraphale had once lost an entire fucking week in his stacks looking for a first edition Wilde he somehow lost, there was no way he _knew_. 

Crowley needed to calm down. Nothing would be fixed by him panicking over what day it was and then getting Aziraphale worked up when it was inevitably dragged out of him. In fact, that would only make things worse. It didn’t mean anything that it was Valentines, it was purely a coincidence. Nothing more. Because that would mean this was a date and that just - Aziraphale wouldn’t want that.  
  
It wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be a date. It couldn’t it couldn’t it couldn’t _it couldn’t._

Could it? 

~

This wasn’t going quite to plan. 

Not that he had a plan, per se, but he did have an idea of how these things were supposed to go. Not only had he participated in a few himself but he had done extensive research prior to asking Crowley out (If one could call reading harlequin romance novels since their creation in 1949 _research_ ).  
  
He had needed a bit of liquid courage to get the question out initially, and having Crowley a few glasses in would help to lessen the blow if he said no, he theorized. Luckily it hadn’t come to that and Aziraphale spent the days in between drifting through his routines, pleased as anything. 

Crowley had been ready for this long before he had been and had been waiting so patiently for him. He suspected the demon thought him too oblivious to have noticed the lingering looks he received, the devotion to granting him every whimsy and want that passed through his mind. The overwhelming sense of love he felt coming from his demon was a far more obvious marker, however. Granted, it had taken Aziraphale a bit of time to truly pinpoint it, but once he had it was impossible to ignore.

Aziraphale had come to terms with his own feelings around the time they ran into each other Rome. He had been happy to see him before - a friendly face in Golgotha had been quite the comfort with what was going on - but Rome was the first point in which he felt compelled to make the first move. It would’ve been easy enough to pretend he hadn’t heard him and carry on with his business. It was what he should’ve done, it had been made clear by Gabriel that if he were to run into any demons on Earth he should smite them and since he bore _no_ desire to do such a thing, turning around and pretending he had never heard his voice would’ve been the Proper thing to do.  
  
But Crowley had sounded so despondent and he had been nice enough before - and if he were being honest with himself (Which he often wasn’t, but he was happy enough pretending he was), he wanted to see him.  
  
What started out a bit rocky soon turned into a lovely lunch where Aziraphale realized with a rare moment of clarity that he loved the demon across from him. 

In typical fashion he tried to reason it away; he was an angel, after all, wasn’t he meant to love all of Her creations regardless of what they were? Yes, he was, of _course_ he was, so to feel this sort of affection for the Enemy was perfectly fine and well within his duties.  
  
He told himself this over and over for months, until months turned into years and the years into centuries. Aziraphale was steadfast in his mantra until that day during the blitz. After everything that had happened, after how he had treated Crowley in the Bentley and all the times he kept him at arm's length before that, he still showed up to help him when he needed it. That wasn’t what made his feelings impossible to ignore, no.

Crowley had saved his books.

So casually and without any fanfare, as if he had simply grabbed an extra pastry from the shop or topped off his wine glass. He had gone out of his way to make sure that something Aziraphale cared about and was passionate about survived a bombing.  
  
After that, he simply couldn’t pretend that he felt the Holy sort of love for Crowley. His love for the demon was selfish and his and utterly, completely human. He hadn’t thought angels to be capable of this sort of love as none had ever been in a romantic sort of relationship before, and yet here he was. Hopelessly and completely in love with a demon who just so happened to love him back.  
  
Aziraphale never brought it up, and he knew Crowley wouldn’t. He wanted to - oh, how he _wanted_ \- but it would only be dangerous and painful in the end and probably get them into more trouble than if they ignored it. So that's what Aziraphale did. He packaged up his feelings for Crowley (And the knowledge that his sentiments were _returned_ ) with delicate touches and the utmost care, and tucked the box away.  
  
On particularly bad days he would take the box down and allow himself to drown in the love he felt for Crowley, just long enough to remind himself how precious it was, how he had to be strong for the both of them until it wouldn’t put them in danger to be with one another.  
  
Armageddon came and went, and finally it was _safe_. 

He waited a few months to bring the package down from the dusty shelf in his mind one last time, opening it and allowing himself to be consumed in the overwhelming feeling of loving and being loved in return. It was indescribable, better than the finest patisseries France had to offer, more enticing than the best bottle of wine in his collection. He wasn’t sure he would be able to push it down again even if his life depended on it.

But still, Aziraphale was nervous.  
  
Things changed over the course of six thousand years, and it was entirely possible that Crowley had decided he wasn’t worth the effort and Aziraphale was simply sensing his own love for the demon (A silly notion in retrospect, but love made one doubt oneself).  
  
Regardless, Aziraphale asked and Crowley said yes and here they were. The plan had gone over well, he thought, and their walk through the park had been positively delightful, reminiscing about their little rendezvous while being pressed as close as he dared - it was blissful. Crowley didn’t seem to have any interest in initiating anything, but that was alright. Aziraphale had spent far too long pushing him back, it was his turn to lead them for once. 

It’s just - he thought that Crowley would’ve gotten his bearings by now; at the very least tried to initiate something, or reciprocated. All through the walk he had allowed Aziraphale to hold his arm, yes, but he made no move to come closer. To take his hand or touch him or even tease him in that flirtatious way that never failed to make his heart swell. 

Something seemed to shift when they sat for dinner, and not for the better. After Aziraphale placed the order for their food and a bottle of Pinot when Crowley brought up the mention of _change_ and oh, this would be the perfect time to talk about their relationship, wouldn’t it? He knew most couples waited until a few dates in to have this discussion, but they had been waiting for plenty long now if you ask him.

“My dear boy, I may dislike change, but it would be foolish of me to try and stop it,” he said, doing his best to project an air of confidence despite the anxiety beginning to claw at his throat. 

Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all. 

He had already started, however, and it would seem odd if he simply stopped talking now. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It can be hard, you know. Especially for us - well me, at least. Things change so fast and so often that I find myself trying to cling to some semblance of normality, of consistency.” He paused, lifting his gaze from his hands to look at his companion. 

The panicked, terrified look currently painted across his features was far from ideal and doubt grabbed ahold of him.  
  
“And, and over the course of our time here on Earth you’ve been the only constant for the most part.” He thought about Gabriel and the other Archangels. “The only good one, anyway. And I simply thought -”  
  
“Bathroom!” Crowley practically yelled, and Aziraphale froze. “I have to - _ngk_. I’ll be back,” he said in a rush and before the angel could get a word in the demon was gone.  
  
He blinked.  
  
“That certainly wasn’t good,” he whispered to himself, the doubt becoming harder and harder to fight back. He couldn’t do much but sit there and worry with his ring until Crowley came sauntering back ten minutes later (Ten minutes, forty three seconds, and 2,385 milliseconds later, to be exact), looking a fair bit more relaxed than he had before.  
  
Aziraphale knew him well enough to see the fear and panic lurking beneath the surface, however, and quickly decided that he couldn’t go through with it. He had tried to be brave, but he wasn’t sure how he would handle an upfront rejection from the love of his life (Again, hindsight).

“Sorry ‘bout that, angel. What were you saying?” Crowley asked and Aziraphale felt incredibly small as the doubt won over and swallowed him whole.  
  
“Nothing my dear,” he lied, plastering on a lackluster smile. “Simply talking about my day at the shop.”  
  
Crowley clearly didn’t believe him, as he shouldn’t have, but Aziraphale performed a minor miracle and their wine and food arrived at the table just as the demon opened his mouth to argue. While he was sure that Crowley would see past his little trick, it worked in the moment as he slid into his usual role raving about the food and wine while Crowley watched with a fond smile and a comment here and there.  
  
Except that Crowley wasn’t exactly smiling, and he certainly didn’t look anywhere near fond. He looked worried. Upset, even, and that only made Aziraphale's own fear worsen. At the very least he needed to make this dinner somewhat normal so Crowley didn’t get any of the right ideas about his original intentions.  
  
“Oh! This young woman came into the shop looking for books on Sappho and she looked absolutely smitten. Terribly polite too, and she didn’t want to buy any of the books, so I made her some coca and told her to let me know if she wanted more writings on sapphic love.” He paused to take a sip of his wine, which turned out to be a mistake.  
  
“ _I_ _sthisadate_?” Crowley blurted out, and Aziraphale had the pleasure (The only pleasurable thing about this particular moment in time) of watching a blush bloom across the tops of his cheeks.  
  
“Pardon?” he asked, doing his best to feign innocence and not doing a very good job of it. 

Crowley took a breath, the blush only getting darker. It looked charming on him, in a way that made Aziraphale want to kiss him.  
  
“Is this a date?” he repeated slower, and Aziraphale felt the bottom of his stomach drop.

“I - well,” he started, twisting his ring. “At first my thought was that this would, that it _could_ be, but I was making an assumption and I realize now I may not have been very clear and, and of course it doesn’t have to be, no. It can just be one of our usual nights out, yes?” He silently prayed that he hadn’t ruined what they have. 

Crowley just stared at him and Aziraphale began to properly panic a little, opening his mouth to make another long, rambling promise about how it doesn’t have to change anything when Crowley shook his head, leaning forward on the table.  
  
The glasses came off and, as usual, the sight of his eyes took his breath away.  
  
“And if I want it to be a date?” His voice was the softest Aziraphale had ever heard and something inside of him melted at the sound. 

Aziraphale didn’t bother trying to hide the blinding smile he was sporting. He’s not sure he could at this point.  
  
“Well - I suppose then it’s a date,” he said carefully, and Crowley's answering grin made him fall in love all over again. 

There were so many things he wanted to say, things he needed to say, things that Crowley deserved to hear ( _I’m sorry_ being among the first of those things), but it all tried to come out at once and got caught in his throat. He had practiced these words thousands of times over the years, there’s no reason it should be this _hard_.  
  
Crowley, as always, seemed to know he was having trouble and shook his head, reaching a hand across the table. Aziraphale took it without hesitation.  
  
“I know, angel. S’okay,” he said. Aziraphale could hear the sincerity in his voice and while it was a relief to know that Crowley didn’t hold his admittedly poor handling of his feelings against him, he still deserved an apology. And he would get one, just not right now. It was likely going to be an emotional conversation for him judging by the tears already welling in the corner of his eyes, and that was better saved for the shop.  
  
He nodded and squeezed Crowley's hand, silently thanking him for everything.  
  
The waiter chose that precise moment to bring over the tasting menu Aziraphale selected and they graciously ignored the clearly emotional moment happening. The plates were set, more wine was poured, and through it all Aziraphale never once let go of Crowley’s hand. If the demon had shown any sign of hesitance or reluctance, he would’ve withdrawn his hand immediately and apologized. Crowley seemed to be holding on to him just as tightly as Aziraphale was and that fact alone pushed back the tears.  
  
Dinner went much like every other meal they shared together had; Aziraphale taking his time and savouring every bite, telling his companion about his day or whatever memories the taste conjured in between bites, while across the table Crowley picked at his plate and listened. This was the first time they were holding hands, and he must admit it was a notable improvement.  
  
Six courses later their hands were still joined, and Aziraphale lit up as the dessert was placed in front of them - a delicate-looking chocolate cake, encased in espresso mousse and covered with a stunning mirror glaze. No matter how many times they’ve been here, the desserts in particular never failed to leave him in awe. 

“Oh, _Crowley_ \- look at how beautiful it is,” he sighed, looking up to find the demon still staring at him. The glasses had never gone back on (Thanks to a few miracles from each of them) and the amount of love in his gaze nearly brought back the tears. Instead, he lifted their joined hands and twisted them, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s knuckles. He tried to put all of the affection and love he couldn’t quite put into words yet into the simple gesture. It must’ve worked to some extent because Crowley's smile softened and the golden irises seemed to shine more than they had a few moments ago.  
  
Aziraphale set about the task of tasting the exquisitely made dessert, still attempting to tell Crowley about his day.  
  
“I’m fairly certain that young lady looking for Sappho’s poetry was planning on confessing her feelings to someone,” he said, scooping up a corner of the dessert and bringing it to his mouth. He closed his lips around the spoon and let out a soft, pleased sigh. There was truly nothing that could compare to a perfectly executed confection (There was actually, as he would find out later that night).  
  
He opened his eyes to continue his conversation and froze, the spoon halfway to the plate. 

In quick succession, Aziraphale realized three things: Crowley had miracled the table smaller when he hadn’t been paying attention, they were now close enough where Crowley could easily stretch his leg out and hook his toes behind his calf, and that his face was abnormally hot.  
  
It was a silly thing to get flustered over, but it was more than a little jarring to go from barely touching for six thousand years to your partner playing footsies with you in public. Not that a little table tucked away in the corner with two sets of miracles to give them privacy was exactly _public_ , but it was close enough.  
  
“Yeah? What makes you think that?” Crowley asked, his smile having turned into something more bastardly. 

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and definitely took another spoonful of his dessert, willing the color to leave his cheeks (It didn’t work).  
  
“Well a-apart from the date, which is fairly telling,” he shot Crowley a Look and he simply slid his foot higher. “She had a sense of love about her,” he finished, taking the spoon into his mouth to keep an embarrassing squeak from coming out. He may love the demon across from him, but he certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of pulling a noise like _that_ from his corporation in public.  
  
Crowley nodded understandingly, stretching his other foot out and bumping it against his other foot. “You … d’you think it’s gonna work out for her and her crush?” he asked, and Aziraphale could see the real question underneath.  
  
“Why yes, I do,” he said with a soft smile, mirroring Crowley and sliding the toe of his shoe up his demon’s calf. “I think it’s going to work out splendidly for them.”  
  
It was satisfying to know that Crowley seemed to blush as easily as he did, if not easier.  
  
Aziraphale finished dessert with their legs hooked together, talking in hushed tones and faintly pink cheeks. It was dizzying to think that this was going to be their future. Being allowed to love each other openly and taking _full_ advantage of that fact, never having to abstain from reaching out and touching when the need overcame came them, never having to lie about why they were together. It was a future he couldn’t wait to begin. 

Crowley must have been in a similar position, because as soon as Aziraphale closed his lips around the last bite, Crowley miracled the bill into existence and passed over a sleek black card. Of course, Aziraphale gave his token protest and was happily hushed with a kiss to the back of his hand. That was certainly more effective than Crowley’s usual argument.  
  
He dabbed his mouth with his napkin while Crowley stood, their hands still joined together. “Come on, I’ve got something I want to show you,” he said, and Aziraphale was helpless but to stand and let himself be led.  
  
“I thought the date was planned by the person who asked,” he said, raising his brows a little as he watched his partner flush yet again. He was certain he would never get used to how stunning Crowley was.  
  
“Er - typically,” he admitted, his other hand moving to the back of his neck. “But, y’know, you’re not the only one who’s thought about this.” The last part came out as mumble, but Aziraphale caught it all the same. 

“Well then. Lead the way, my darling,” he said, and was rewarded for the pet name with a new wave of color on Crowley's cheeks. Yes, he was going to have fun with that.  
  
Crowley led them out the way they came but they exited into a different park, one Aziraphale wasn’t immediately familiar with. It didn’t matter. He trusted Crowley implicitly, and simply leaned into him as they walked. “I think I’ve done a fair bit of talking - tell me about your day,” he said, and for once Crowley didn’t argue. 

“You remember the coins on the pavement yeah? Well …” Crowley launched into an explanation of his newest demonic act; making people think they see a twenty in the grass and having it be either impossible to find again, or one of those fake twenty notes that obnoxious Americans leave as tips that say _Use what the Lord gave you_. Aziraphale conceded that it was incredibly demonic of him, and even suggested perhaps making it a fifty instead. The amount of love radiating off Crowley at that moment was nearly enough to knock Aziraphale back.  
  
By the time they reached the clearing, Crowley had abandoned his hand in favour of an arm around his waist and Aziraphale had no complaints. “Tartan?” he asked, taking in the sight in front of him. What was undoubtedly a blanket in his own tartan spread out over the ground, complete with a few pillows and a bottle of their favorite Cabernet from 1937.  
  
Crowley just shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t get used to it,” he drawled, guiding him over to the blanket. Aziraphale said nothing (He doubted it would be the last time tartan was conjured for him) and took a seat on the blanket. The pillow was the perfect fill to prop him up in a reclined position, leaving him looking at the star-studded sky. The demon followed suit, pouring them each a glass and getting comfortable next to him.

Aziraphale stayed quiet, giving him the space he needed to explain the lovely impromptu picnic.  
  
“I’ve always wanted to do this.” Crowley’s voice broke the silence some moments late, soft and fragile. “With you. You uh, you said once that you hadn’t seen anything as beautiful as the night sky and - well, I know a bit about it ‘cause I helped and there’s no light pollution here, so,” he cleared his throat, golden eyes boring a hole in his wine glass. “Thought it might be nice,” he finished. Aziraphale caught his eyes as they flicked over to him, doing no less than beaming at him.  
  
“My dear boy, this is wonderful,” he said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. If he wasn’t mistaken, Crowley leaned into the touch a hair before turning to kiss the center of his palm. It was chaste, dry, quick, and it still lit a fire in Aziraphale’s stomach. “Show me your favourites first,” he said, settling his head on Crowley's shoulder as his love began to speak.  
  
Serpens was first, unsurprisingly, followed by Columba (He wouldn’t say why, but hearing that the constellation was a dove made it clear enough for him), then Monoceros, Pegasus, Andromeda, Libra, Corvus, and then he trailed off. Aziraphale turned to look at him when he didn't continue and was promptly hit with a wave of anxiety. “Crowley,” he said softly, sitting up and urging the demon to face him properly. He did, after a bit of token resistance.  
  
It was clear Crowley wasn’t going to speak first, so Aziraphale did. “What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping a hand on his forearm. Enough to be comforting, but not enough to be overwhelming, if that was the case here.  
  
Crowley seemed fixated on where they were connected, and Aziraphale squeezed his arm lightly in encouragement.  
  
“Thissss is real, right?” he asked after a moment, finally meeting his eyes. The normally beautiful and bright gold was dimmed by fear - fear of rejection, he assumed. Well. That just wouldn’t do.  
  
Aziraphale put his wine glass down and took Crowley’s as well. He didn’t say anything, simply held his pinky out with a soft smile.  
  
Crowley chuckled a bit (Aziraphale heard the sniffle behind it regardless) and held out his pinky, a smile starting to return to his features. Remembering what Crowley did earlier in the week, Aziraphale linked them together and waited until Crowley met his gaze again.  
  
“I, Aziraphale Z. Fell,” Crowley snickered and Aziraphale shushed him. “Promise that this,” he squeezed his forearm again. “Is real. There has never been anything in my very long existence that has been ‘realer’ than our relationship,” he said and Crowley managed to bite back his laughter this time. 

“I love you,” he continued, not a waver or trace of doubt in his voice. It felt so _good_ to say it after all these years and watching Crowley nearly snap his neck looking up was just a plus. “I have loved you for a very long time, and I can’t imagine a reality in which I _wouldn’t_ be completely in love with you.”  
  
Crowley was staring at him with his mouth open and his eyes as wide as he’s ever seen them. He clamped his mouth shut when he realized Aziraphale was done, nodding a bit to himself. “My dear, I do believe you have to say something,” he prodded gently, and Crowley just nodded a bit more.  
  
“Yeah, I -,'' He cut himself off with a watery laugh. “Fuck, I love you, angel,” he said, and Aziraphale’s throat tightened with emotion. He wanted to tell him he loved him again and again and again and again until it was ingrained in Crowley’s very being, but they had time for that. He could wait until his love finished speaking.  
  
“I promise that - uh, this is real for me too. I love you more than anything. More than I thought possible - you know they tried to tell us that demons couldn’t love? Fucking Belzebub,” he growled, and Aziraphale didn’t bother hiding his smile (And _oh_ , it felt so wonderful not to have to hide). “But. I love you. So much. And I always will,” he finished, nodding in a way that seemed more to himself than to Aziraphale.  
  
For his part, he was just happy that he hadn’t managed to cry throughout Crowley’s speech, but it was a close thing. Aziraphale couldn’t stop smiling, and he nodded too. “Well. We have to seal it, don’t we?” he asked, and Crowley nodded yet again, pulling a laugh from Aziraphale’s throat.  
  
He pulled Crowley close by their joined hands, letting them fall to their lap as he kissed Crowley for the very first time in six thousand years. There had been times when he’s imagined what it would be like, anywhere from soft and tender to needy and desperate, but this was so much better. It was everything, all at once. It was desperate and soft and tender and so _achingly_ perfect, filling a part of him he had been denying existed for a very long time. 

Before it was over they started again, though he wasn’t sure who pressed back in for more. It could've been Crowley, easing his way into Aziraphale lap and winding his fingers in his curls. Or it could’ve been Aziraphale, who’s hands found their way to Crowley’s hips and was pulling him closer and even closer still once he was on his lap. He supposed they both had a hand in it, and really, who could blame them? Six thousand years of waiting deserved more than one kiss.  
  
They pulled apart some time later, breathless and flushed and smiling like they never quite have before. “I love you,” he said again simply because he could. He had a feeling it was going to become somewhat of a staple in his vocabulary if it made Crowley light up like that every time.  
  
Crowley kissed him once more before pulling away, just enough to lay them down on the pillows once more. He cleared his throat. “So. Where was I?” he asked with a hoarse voice, and Aziraphale laughed. 

Not once had Aziraphale been as happy as he was now, curled up with his demon, listening to him speak about something he was passionate about. For a while he was sure they wouldn’t ever get to this point, but here they were, despite it all; happy, together, in love. There would be a number of Valentine’s dates following this one, but Aziraphale already knew that this would forever be his favourite one. 


End file.
